Goodbye Carrot

Floorboards creaked ominously throughout the abandoned mansion. Furniture and cabinetry were all covered in cloth, like corpses being covered. Cobwebs and dust were the only residents of this once majestic manor on the hill. Yet in one of the rooms, a fire was lit in the fireplace. A woman sat by the fireplace. Her cheeks freshly red. Her eyes watery and downcast.

“I’m sorry I brought you back this way, just to take you back out of it. I’m so sorry.” She spoke across the room. She stood, “But if I don’t destroy you now, well…I don’t want to imagine what they’ll do to you.”

Her laced fingers reach down into the fireplace, her fingers enticing the flame to move into her hand as she cast her spell. A small ball of fire leapt into her hand like a small creature, and she cradled it in her palm, staring into its flame. Then she stood and turned to face the middle of the room with fortitude.

“It was a mistake to bring you back. But please forgive me. I’ve been so alone since you’ve been gone…I just wanted to feel your touch again.”

The woman took slow steps towards the middle of the room. Each step heavy. The bottom fringes of her dark dressed smearing the lamb’s blood pentagon painted freshly across the floorboards. Each step was heavy, the small fireball glowing brightly in her open hand.

“Perhaps there will be a day when necromancy isn’t shunned so…looked down upon...but until that day comes, I’m afraid this is goodbye Carrot…” she slowly extended her palm, the fire blazed brightly.

Carrot stared at Beatrice with lifeless eyes. His once floppy fluffy bunny ears that always cradled his face so gently now were dried and crackly, and one barely hung on but for one stitch. His torso and back still bore the marks of the fangs of the beast that took his life the first time. His ribs and spine, though re-attached through an assort of screws and wire, were still mostly broken. And his once brown creamy fur had seen better days.

Yet none of these things bothered him as they probably should have. While once a fickler for any kind of discomfort, Carrot had to admit he had little to complain about since being brought back from the dead. At least, that’s where he assumed he might’ve come from. The last memory he had was being clamped down upon by some mangy beast and hearing the screams of Beatrice rushing after him. If anything, he was feeling relieved that Beatrice wasn’t angry with him. As she was often testy with him during his escapist adventures. Though it wasn’t because he was much of an adventurer, no it was because he really just enjoyed resting on the grass in the sun, gently nibbling on it here and there while basting.

Despite relief, he figured he should be feeling other things now, but he couldn’t feel much else. Except cold. Yes, very cold actually. He glanced around the room he was in, not recognizing its dusty floors and cobweb walls. There were some red lines painted along the floor. He was obviously not in Beatrice’s house. He wondered why.

And he also wondered why Beatrice was aiming with an open palm what appeared to be a small fireball in his direction. She didn’t look angry; he had seen anger before. She used to threaten him quite frequently actually, especially whenever he was up to his old antics: threatened to take his favorite blanket away, threaten to take his Human Bed privileges away, threaten to not give him anymore head scritches. But in the end, she always rescinded those threats. Because he knew just want to do.

He just kept staring at her and wrinkled his nose in a certain manner. Then let out a little grunt, but it sounded more like a dry guttering growl.

That was odd. But it still worked. For Beatrice whimpered, then with a curse she threw the firebolt back into the fireplace where it exploded in a bright light, lighting up the room and the windows to the outside.

“Damn it all! Damn this world! Damn those witches that put all these damn rules on magic in the first place! Why can’t I resurrect my bunny rabbit to be with me once more! You weren't meant to die! If it wasn’t for that damn mutt! Damn damn damn it all!”

She began to pace around the room in a feverish state. Carrot had learned it was best to leave her when she was like this. Beatrice had been his keeper for some time, and he supposed he was her keeper as well. Though he often didn't really know what his job was.

His first keeper was a much older lady than Beatrice, and she would whisper all kinds of words relating to his 'important job'. Such as 'be kind', 'be a good listener'. Carrot didn’t really understand what any of those words meant, but he figured he would fake it till he made it.

He did learn an important thing though. Was that when he did certain things, like allow himself to be picked up, or scratched upon (which was honestly quite nice) he got plenty of treats. And Beatrice was certainly more generous with those than his first keeper had been.

However, for some strange reason, Carrot wasn’t craving any actual treats. Which was odd, because Carrot was always craving treats. Yet he was craving something. But that something he couldn’t quite think of. It was bothering him.

And cold. He felt so cold, and he couldn’t figure out exactly why. He wanted his blanket, but the very thought of it also seemed to detest him. And what was this feeling: detest? Carrot assumed it was akin to the feeling of cold raindrops on his creamy fur.

Beatrice was still pacing around the room, and was throwing her fists in the air at every other word. She was rambling about the other witches, the other students at this academy grounds that always bothered her. Carrot knew all about them, because she often talked about them when she cuddled him and gave him head scratches. Yet that very thought seemed to disturb him.

He didn’t want head scratches. He didn’t want his blanket, and he didn’t want his treats. Yet he did. Yet the thought detested him.

And there was that word again.

Then there was loud banging on one of the windows.

“Beatrice? Beatrice are you in there? We saw a brilliant light and we can hear someone rambling in there. We know what you’ve done but please, all can still be forgiven!”

Then another voice, “You don’t want this to be reflected in your grades dearly. Academy is already expensive enough without having to repeat certain Courses.”

Then another, “Please Beatrice, come out peacefully!”

And then more and more voices. Beatrice hissed.

“Of course, of course they would find me! They’re always looking over my shoulders!”

She scooped Carrot into her hands and bolted towards the back of the mansion. At the feeling of her warm touch, Carrot wanted to bite her. Which was strange. Because he had never wanted to bite her before. Even when she occasionally teased him or refused to give him one last treat. Yet her fingers felt like nails driving into his body. And her warm touch now just made him feel colder.

What was wrong with him?

The back door slammed open as Beatrice booked it forward. There were voices immediately near, shouting after her. But she seemed to silence them by uttering a word in a dead language and a gust of terrible wind billowed over them.

With every jostle of every hurried step she took, Carrot felt her arms cut into his body like wires. He wanted out. He began to wrestle against her, something that caused her must distraught.

“Please Carrot, don’t fight me! I’m sorry if I’m squeezing you but please!”

She was in the woods behind the mansion now. The trees towered over them like black shadows. They seemed to reach out towards Carrot. They looked like claws, Like the fangs that bore into him. And Carrot began to feel the pain of that mutt’s bite into his body once more. And it made him colder, colder. So cold that he felt the only relief would be to bite into Beatrice’s warm flesh. But he resisted, because why would he ever bite her. But he began to kick and claw, he had to be put down.

“Carrot please don’t-UGH!” Beatrice must’ve gotten her foot caught in a tree root as she fell forward, dropping Carrot to the grassy floor. She screamed as Carrot rolled across the floor. Normally he had a great sense of gravity, but now his body felt so clumsy. And his legs and neck were contorted in a strange manner. So, it took him a while to roll onto his paws properly, and he could feel his bones snapping back into place.

This sight seemed to distress Beatrice greatly, and she began to cry, “Oh god, Carrot, what…what have I done to you?” She sat there, cradling her face in her hands and began to cry.

But Carrot could not focus on that. For he realized that they were in a small clearing in the woods now. In particular he was now in a small patch of grass that seemed to have blossomed due to the opening in the canopy above.

Smooth, crinkly, tasty morsels of grass. It was nothing compared to the treats Beatrice gave him, but oh it was so satisfying to nibble on.

Greedily he took a bunch in his little jaws and began to munch. Yet the earthy and sweet flavors he was expecting did not come. Instead, it felt like he was eating something rotten. The blades of the grass that always had such superb texture now tasted like metal, and it cut him as if it were. He spit it out and tried to sniff out a different portion of the small patch. But he could smell nothing. No scent at all. He took another bunch anyways, and again, the same awful experience bombarded his taste buds.

What cruel fate is to befall a bunny like him? Suddenly, he remembered in clear distinction the dog clamping down on him, and that whole painful experience. He began to think of all the other poor experiences of his life. When he was left alone in his cage for too long, when Beatrice wouldn’t take him outside on account of the rain, and those awful moments when she informed him that there were no more treats.

So, he did what he always did in those instances. He began to stomp. And stamp. He began to do angry bunny stomps and stamps. He released all of his anger, frustration, and annoyance in all these stomps and stamps. He smashed the grass with his not so furry paws, making little thudding noises with each slam. He wanted to send them back into the earth to think of what they’d done to him.

Then suddenly there was a sound. And it sounded like warm honey to his ears. He spun, an angry spin, and saw Beatrice laughing. She was wiping tears from her face now.

“Oh Carrot, you’ve always known how to make me laugh.”

She still sat on her knees, and now cradled her hands forward in the universal sign that Carrot had come to know as ‘Let’s cuddle.’

He was drawn to it, though he still felt that coldness persisting at him. Yet when he allowed himself to be picked up and placed into his lap, he felt that coldness begin to recede a bit.

And then came the head scritches.

And oh, those felt so good. And felt so warm. He felt the warmth flow through his head and into his body. He buried his head further into her lap and splayed his entire body in submission to the scritches. This made Beatrice alugh more, and it made Carrot feel even warmer.

“Oh Carrot, I’ve been so foolish, and oh so selfish. I should’ve never brought you out of your slumber. Here, I think I can undo the magic here…”

Beatrice began to gently whisper about a place where there would be treats galore and plenty of sunshine, and full fields of grass and flowers as far as the eyes could see. And as she did, Carrot began to feel the coldness thawing away. He was also feeling lighter. As if whatever shackles kept him here had been gently lifted.

Memories began to flood through his mind now too. But it was a gentle flow, as he remembered all his special moments with Beatrice. Of her taking him out when the sun was out, of stretching out on the grass while she read poetry. Of sitting in her lap and nibbling on crackers while she ranted on about her colleagues and teachers. And of course, about all the head scritches he had received.

He knew Beatrice was a good keeper, and she would make a brilliant Witch one day-whatever those were anyways-and he knew that he would miss her. And he hoped that she would miss him too.

Though he had a feeling, if she were reciting these poems of the afterlife then surely, she knew where it is, and she could come visit him. Hopefully often.

As the warmth continued to flow within him, and he felt himself drifting into peaceful sleep, his last thoughts were that he hoped she would find another that would sit and listen to her. He felt that she would need it.

And he hoped he had meant to her what she meant to him. And that she knew what a marvelous woman she was.

Mostly because of the head scritches.